


A Royal Trinity

by AquitaineQueen24



Category: A Royal Affair (2012), Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Tetralogy - Thomas Harris
Genre: 18th Century, AU, And Hannibal is their royal physician, And there are going to be some changes in the state of Denmark, And there will be an unholy trinity as well as a royal one, But they are above all discreet, F/M, M/M, OT3, Only Will is King Vilhelm and Clarice is Queen Caroline, Polyamory, So it's essentially A Royal Affair, possible cannibalism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-05
Updated: 2013-06-12
Packaged: 2017-12-14 01:10:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/830962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AquitaineQueen24/pseuds/AquitaineQueen24
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'Despite appearances, the king was not mad when his physician was first chosen to attend him. He’s not mad now - although if Hannibal had decided that such should be the case, then mad he would mostly certainly become...'</p><p>'...Then, there is the Queen.'</p><p>The King of Denmark is troubled, the Queen is on her guard, and royal physician Lecter is very fond of his Vilhelm and Caroline.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

Despite appearances, the king was not mad when his physician was first chosen to attend him. He’s not mad now - although if Hannibal had decided that such should be the case, then mad he would mostly certainly be.

Vilhelm of Denmark is a truly remarkable being. His mind is so delicate; it bruises all too easily under the blows of his courtiers’ souls. Their thoughts and crimes flood him, he makes desperate attempts to fight back in order not to be destroyed by the weight of their attention and of his own duty. The royal physician has often wished that Vilhelm were merely a commoner rather than a king –

-not that Vilhelm would necessarily be _happier_ living in a hovel than in a palace, but there would be fewer eyes to see, fewer tongues wagging to take into account, and Hannibal could indulge in his curiosity about his patient, in their companionship, to the fullest. Alas: the methods that could be used upon an ordinary man (or as ordinary as Vilhelm could ever be) would not escape unnoticed when treating a king, so Hannibal must content himself with what he is permitted.

As Vilhelm loses his initial wariness and opens his own soul to his physician, Hannibal is quietly delighted by what he finds. Here, he discovers, is a man who can put himself into the skin of others so vividly, so completely that the strange, hostile souls threaten to smother him. A king who can truly see into the hearts of men, and trembles at what he finds. Except, curiously, when it comes to Hannibal himself; once Vilhelm has become used to him he gradually grows to like him, and then to adore him. It isn’t long before he comes to touch and then embrace his physician as his friend, which suits Hannibal very well. He is, of course, most humble and grateful for these favours, as well he should be.

Vilhelm is not weak, not precisely, but he is innocent, susceptible to suggestion. It is relatively easily to direct him wherever Hannibal wants him to go.

Then, there is the queen.

Faces are not things he can read so easily. Scents, now, scents are far harder to conceal, despite all the perfume a hot, sweaty court must douse itself with to keep smelling sweet.

He’s caught Caroline’s scent when she’s in the same room as her husband. It’s never the scent of an aroused woman – Vilhelm, witting or unwitting, seems to have killed all chance of that long ago. But on the good days there can be hints of tenderness, the desire to help and comfort the king as he struggles with the monsters that plague him, the fierce urge to protect him from a court seeking to use and exploit him. There have been times when Hannibal been hit with the full force of her suspicion and wariness as she stares at him, knowing that she would fight him if only she could, if only she were allowed. If Caroline were a man…even if she were a woman of lesser rank or a common housewife, she could have been a lioness.

But, she is the queen. And Queen Caroline, a foreigner who does not please the king, is largely ignored by the court. Hannibal thinks that in this case, as in so many others, the courtiers are fools. And he freely includes himself in that number. At first he too disregarded her as he devoted all his attention to his Vilhelm, thinking of her as a foolish little bird in her cage, too meek even to rattle the bars. Her pointed remarks and the revelation of the mind, the _heart_ , behind that stoic little face means that he’s learned his lesson since then. This is a bird that still longs to fly, and also longs to peck and tear.

He finds himself charmed by them both, however little charm they hold for each other; his Vilhelm, his Caroline.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I present, in order: Royal physician Hannibal Lecter.
> 
> (This wasn't too difficult, really. Mads Mikkelsen in A Royal Affair.
> 
> I should probably change his name, since I doubt a doctor in eighteenth century Europe who's at least nominally Christian is really going to have a Phoenician name, even if it does mean 'Grace of God' - but, dangit, the name is just so distinctive!)
> 
> King Vilhelm of Denmark.
> 
> (Hugh Dancy has done a lot of period films - but alas, they're all set in the nineteenth century. One was about vibrators. It was awesome.
> 
> Don't believe me? http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hysteria_(2011_film)
> 
> So think of Ella Enchanted. Just pretend he pulled his wig off.)
> 
> Queen Caroline 
> 
> (I don't really know who my ideal Clarice is yet - and yes, this is Clarice, wearing the role of the historical Caroline Matilda of Great Britain; I thought her name and background as an ignored foreigner was an appropriate fit - so for now, think of Alicia Vikander. Who is a really great actress but probably wouldn't make a good Clarice; I've seen some good cases for Jessica Chastain.)
> 
> This is really just an experiment; I really do need to sit down and watch A Royal Affair in full before I start the crossover in earnest. This is going to be a hard project.


	2. Chapter 2

The first time he sees Caroline, he can’t help himself. He hides behind a tree and breathes deep as the wife he’s never seen in the flesh, until today, advances.

She walks from the carriage that brought her to him, from the sea, with such well hidden uncertainty. She clasps her hands to keep them from shaking. She’s nervous, but she’ll never let anyone see it if she can help it. He can see her look about for him as he peers from behind the branches, growing more desperate as he continues to fail to appear.

As he watches, her concealed nervousness gives way to more obvious confusion; confusion is acceptable for her to show, then, not fear. Her lips part as if she would plead – or no, not plead, rather _demand:_

 _See me, I am here, I’ve come, see me, oh_ see _me!_

“I see you,” he whispers, as if that will do any good. “Oh, I see you.”

Anyone else would think Caroline is pleasant to look at. And she is, really she is. She’s perhaps taller than is common for a woman, slim but not too skinny, with wonderfully pale skin. (He can’t help but wonder, in the midst of his fear, how it might feel to touch that skin, stroke that hair. There’s no desire in it, just pure curiosity. She draws his eye unwillingly.) Her hair is auburn and gleams in the sun, her eyes are a fine shade of blue, her face is long but with good bones and a beauty mark on her cheek, set proudly in the place that denotes courage.

She _is_ brave, this new wife of his. She’ll want to look him in the eye and silently, rightfully demand that he sees and acknowledges her.

Vilhelm watches his wife and wants to send her straight back to Britain, if only so she won’t look at him with a stare that he doesn’t want to meet, that he _can’t_ meet. But he can’t stay behind this tree forever either, so eventually he breathes out once more, steps into view and walks forward.

So Caroline gets her first proper sight of her husband and feels _such_ relief. She’d thought for a moment, before she saw the top of his head between the branches, that this was all some stupid joke at her expense and Vilhelm was never meant to come and meet her. Or that Vilhelm has refused to come and merely sent the carriage to pick her up, as a slight. She’s been on her guard for such a thing since her journey began - even before she read her brother’s letter ,warning her about courtiers using and manipulating her. Since the moment she knew that she’d be going to her new country alone, without a small court of her own as support, she’s prepared herself to be mocked, ignored, looked over.

But he’s here, he’s come, and at last he’s seen her.

As he comes forward (slow and uncertain, looking everywhere but his destination) she makes a swift appraisal of Denmark’s king. He’s not that tall - he looks quite like an over grown child, really, more so than his official portrait. His face is as delicate as it is in her miniature, with a pointed chin; his hair would curl naturally if it wasn’t fixed into the current style. His eyes…she can’t tell, because he seems determined to look everywhere but at her.

She _can_ tell he’s ill at ease; whether with her or with the situation in general she can’t say, but as he makes his bow it’s clear how he feels. _Let me be somewhere else, let me be_ anywhere _but here._ He’s breathing deep through his nose and out through his teeth. As he straightens he looks at her cheek, not into her eyes.

Caroline is proud…but not so proud that she looks at Vilhelm’s face again once she’s curtsied. She hopes it makes the circumstances easier for him, because they couldn’t possibly feel more awkward to her.

He seems like a good man, at least not one who’ll make her miserable.

She hopes.

* * *

The first time Hannibal Lecter sees his Vilhelm, he’s sitting half in shadows. Slouching, rather; clothes rumpled and dirty, hair in disarray, at least two days growth of beard and a scowl on his face. The beard suits him, Hannibal thinks. The scowl he’s undecided about.

Vilhelm (who is not _his_ Vilhelm, not yet, Hannibal does not decide upon that until at least a few minutes into their conversation) glares at him as a greeting, even if their eyes do not meet.

Promising.

Hannibal bows his head. “Your Majesty, my name is-”

“I don’t need a doctor!” Vilhelm cuts in. King as he is, he can be as rude as he likes – but there’s no heart in his rudeness. There’s too much fear behind those words, a stench of desperation in the air. “I don’t want another person in my head.”

“The Court thinks you need a doctor.” When Vilhelm fails to react, he goes on; “Do you have any idea why?”

Vilhelm glares now at his hand, clasped on the chair arm. “Perhaps because I want to be left in peace. And when I’m not, I’m dragged down by the filth around me. Until I fight back.”

Hannibal has to smile; such simple problems and desires. “What’s wrong with that?”

Vilhelm shrugs. “I’m the king, and I don’t fit their design.”

Hannibal had gained a picture of this supposedly mad king, from the men who think they can use him to get back into court, from the court itself as he presented himself and waited to have his chance to meet Vilhelm. He takes that canvas in his mind and paints over it with what he finds as they talk further. He notes Vilhelm’s lack of desire to make eye contact. Everything he sees touches everything else in his mind, the relative innocence of the man is appalled by the company he finds himself in and yet unable to detach himself from it. Vilhelm, Hannibal concludes very quickly, is a man who is distracted by eyes; he’s enthralled and trapped in the sins of others.

He says nothing of this, naturally, so Vilhelm is not as put off by the lithe but gaunt doctor – _he looks like a skeleton,_ he thought spitefully when the man first entered, _he should eat more_ – as he might have been. The man does at least seem to be interested in him, in finding out what troubles him as opposed to thinking the problem is masturbation. (As if he couldn’t hear that; he hates that physician most of all.)

Vilhelm watches this doctor whose name he’s heard called outside the door, Hannibal Lecter. Dr Lecter dresses well, at least, even if he might be ill able to afford it, he seems to be a man who takes care with his appearance – though this suit he wears is probably new, bought for this attempt to gain this position. His face is calm, almost blank. Vilhelm can tell that he isn’t nervous but supremely confident.  

He’s curious despite himself, as his possible physician embarks on drawing him into responding. He finds that he does, unwilling though he might, because _god!_ It’s the first time anyone’s interested him in what seems like years, the first person who’s tried to _understand_ him rather than bowing and scraping or ignoring him, or directing his mind at things he has no care to see.

(Or making him aware of how terribly he’s failed, making him feel sick with guilt, but he does his best not to think of Caroline.)   

“When they choose you for my physician,” he says all at once, cutting into the words Lecter’s been quoting, though he wishes he could let the other man go on, “and I think they will, they won’t want you to be friends with me. It’ll worry them.”

Lecter smiles just a little at that. “Heaven forbid that we become friends, Your Majesty?”

“I don’t find you that interesting.” That’s a lie.

“You will.” That’s the truth. “All your court, all those physicians out there, they see you as fragile china, to be used only by the most delicate of hands.”

“How do you see me?” Vilhelm asks, sitting up.

Dr Lecter smiles.

* * *

The first time Caroline sees the new royal physician she hardly pays him any heed at first, she’s so intent upon her husband. Vilhelm is impossible, truly impossible, and she _hates_ him and yet she waits and yearns for him to return because really, what is she without him?

The air is cold on her arms and neck, but she’s here on the steps of the palace while his step-mother stays up in her warm rooms, waiting for him, with their son and his courtiers and even his favourite dog ready to great him – and that beast _always_ gets a warmer greeting than she does, but what does it matter so long as she’s acknowledged, even if he refuses to see her?

Then he arrives and _still_ cannot meet her eye. That’s an old hurt that’s long scabbed over and healed by now, but it still twinges at times like this. She steps forward and greets him, and tries not to sigh when he stares at the assembled servants and courtiers, no doubt hating the thought of having to be among them again.

When he begins to argue with Reventlow the dark man steps forward and murmurs words to him that seem to calm him.

Vilhelm guides the man past her without any further acknowledgement.

Now that she wants to look closely at this man, who holds such sway over her husband that he can stop his fits of temper, all Caroline gets is a glimpse of a dark neat coat, grey brown feathery hair – his own hair, with no artifice added - a strong skull beneath the skin, lips that seem very red, eyes that don’t see her.

(And she’s thankful for that because they’re cold, how has anyone not seen how _cold_ they are?)

She’s left staring at the empty carriage as the servants move uneasily and Frederick wriggles in his nurse’s arms, whining. She longs to whine herself. She longs to stamp, scream, run after Vilhelm; to pull him away from that doctor and cry that she’s always been here, if he’s chosen to rely on someone _now_ she was ready to help and comfort him years ago, didn’t he _see?_

She thinks of the two of them, Vilhelm in his bright coat, the doctor following in his dark suit.

Hannibal thinks of her as well, even as he focuses most of his attention on Vilhelm. The queen that so intimidates his Vilhelm, the woman he both resents intensely and feels such guilt for wronging and ignoring, is really nothing remarkable.

Beautiful, of course, though years of being married to a man like her husband has undoubtedly taken something from her – but her hair is auburn and bright even in this grey light, her skin is creamy pale against her blue dress (that matches her eyes so well) and the mark for courage stands out on her cheek.

Hannibal wonders if she has ever had the opportunity or inclination to display the trait the mark suggests. He thinks perhaps she has, in her own way.

As Vilhelm leads him past Caroline he hears the woman exhale – in relief? Disappointment? Anger? Anger or at least irritation, he decides as he catches a whiff of her true scent under the perfume she’s lightly applied. (He likes that, absurdly enough; that she doesn’t smother her natural scent.) Perhaps she glares quickly after the two of them before any of the sheep notice.

There’s no power in that glare, if it’s there; even with a healthy prince growing strong in the nursery Caroline has no authority with king or court or country. She might see him as a danger, true, but he’s in no danger from her. And she’s in no danger from him if what he’s heard of her is true. Even Vilhelm describes her as quiet, calm and cool in the face of bad behaviour or in the insults the people have thrown at her, incapable as they are of attacking the king.  

He’s felt a flicker of respect for her in that, keeping her head high and paying no heed to filth others throw at her – but if she does nothing to stop them, she’s nothing more than a sheep, a little song bird locked in her cage while her owners leer in.

Hannibal lets his Vilhelm lead him into his new home and leaves Caroline outside in the cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was undecided as to whether Caroline should have a beauty mark in the place where she gets the gunpowder trace in The Silence of the Lambs before or after she meets Vilhelm and Hannibal, respectively. Then I decided that there really wasn't any circumstance in which she'd get the stain as described in canon - and besides, in the eighteenth century having a beauty mark was highly focused upon, so I chose to add it in.


End file.
